Writer's Block
by Mostly Harmless III
Summary: Crossover.Kinda.Laguna Loire from FF8 has to write a PWP Trigun smut story before deadline to keep from starving to death. How hard could it be? The answer? Very, very hard. Typos and cliches abound in this comedy fic written in praise of all things smut.


Title: Writer's Block: A Sympathetic Tribute to the Struggles of a Pornographic Writer

Author: Mostly Harmless

Fandom: Trigun and Final Fantasy 8

Pairing: Vash/Wolfwood

Rating: Hard R

Warnings: PWP smut. Poorly written smut, too, but for comedic purposes. Graphic language. Not Beta-read.

Summary: With a deadline looming, Laguna Loire of FF8 fame has to throw together a plot-less smut fic in order to earn a paycheck so he won't starve to death. But writing on an empty stomach is a bad idea. Laguna suffers through the trials and tribulations of a pornographic writer. Wish him luck. To use "cock" or not to use "cock," that is the question.

Author Notes: I got off the bus on Tuesday and had the undeniable urge to write a PWP lemon. I raced home, sat down at my computer and…nothing happened. This is what happens when a yaoi smut writer comes up against the big brick wall of writer's block. Only sad part is that I had to drag Laguna through the murky depths with me.

Writer's Block: A Sympathetic Tribute to the Struggles of a Pornographic Writer

_All his bad deeds had begun life as good intentions. Watching them shrivel in the desert sun to become the raisins of sin wasn't such a bad thing on most days, he reasoned. _

Laguna's head hit the table with a heavy _thud_. "Raisins of sin?" he said, mocking himself. "I can't _believe_ I just wrote that." Without consciously deciding to, he highlighted the entire passage before moving his pinky to hover over the delete key. He bit his lip. If he deleted it, he realized, he'd be back to square one and this magazine paid by the word. God, he needed the money. Laguna Loire, Galbadian Soldier, freelance writer and sometime-actor glanced at the dingy squalor surrounding him and his mood darkened further. His room was amazingly rat-free in a hotel known for rats, but only because they had come and gone already and found nothing there to keep their attention. The rats knew how to make it through life without starving to death; he wished he had the same intelligence. His stomach growled and he was just near enough to the madness that comes with hunger that he thought he could hear the words "Feed me, feed me" echoing through is body.

By his elbow, the prompt stared up at him. "A short story of the erotic variety set in the _Trigun_ Universe. To be a feature in next month's issue of _Stud_. Plot optional." He sneered. Plot wasn't "optional." Plot was discouraged. Hell, giving the characters _clothing_ was discouraged. Took too long to get the bloody things off. Valuable time that could be spent "grinding" and "fisting" and…he looked at the list of dirty words he had jotted down especially for the occasion…and "rutting." What the hell did rutting look like anyway?

_Stud_. A magazine with a byline that read: _The_ Premiere Gay Literary Magazine. Laguna shook his head and smiled, but not with amusement. He was writing porn. No way to sugar coat it and make it into anything else. It was porn. Pure, unadulterated porn. Where were his travel articles now? Hadn't he once written a feature about mountain climbing with your family complete with pictures of smiling, happy couple, child, and dog? How had his life changed so much that he was now contemplating how many times he could get away with using the words 'thrust' and 'moan' before the editors complained.

He shook himself. Time to get to work. These two hunks were gonna get naked and screw like the world's horniest rabbits if it was the last thing he did. And, since he couldn't remember the last time he had eaten, that might be the case. Where had he been? Oh, yes. _Raisins_.

_But this time around, his rash actions had consequences. He had flirted shamelessly telling himself that he was merely being "friendly"; he had touched "accidentally" one time too many. He had leaned in too close, whispered coy words and let his breath ghost across pale ears. And done it all without thinking it through. Like some amateur. Like some damn horny kid. Nicholas D. Wolfwood inhaled deeply on his cigarette and closed his eyes, hoping he wasn't seeing what he thought he was seeing. His hopes were in vain._

Oh, yes. Brilliant use of the language. _His hopes were in vain_. Because _that_ fell from the cliché tree and hit every branch on the way down. Too late now, Laguna realized. Deadlines were no joke and his was looming over him, as menacing as anything he had faced in the army and infinitely stickier. Loads stickier, in fact, if the readers of _Stud_ got their way. Think naked, he told himself and nodded. Yes, Wolfwood was wearing far too much clothing.

_His eyes widened as inches of skin appeared before them. It was just too much. The cigarette fell from his lips as he literally began to pant. He had wanted this so badly, so badly it had kept him awake at night. And now it was before him, stripping with deliberate slowness and Wolfwood found that he couldn't even react. Couldn't even think. Could only stand, hardening, and panting. His fantasies had always been so much clearer. There was never a question about what to do or how to do it in his fantasies. _

_Getting what he wanted in his imaginings always involved a bit of trickery on his part: get Vash drunk, help him back to his room, and then close the door with both of them on the same side of it. The side with the comfortable bed and the jar of lotion in the bedside drawer. There was always a bedside drawer in his fantasies despite the fact that none of the dingy hotels they stayed in ever had one. Unperturbed by this fact, his mind happily supplied the convenient nightstand along with lubrication in all manner of interesting flavors and colors. Ravish Me Red. Orgasm Orange. Fruity Fellatio. _

Laguna didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He settled for pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head at himself. Fruity Fellatio, indeed. They didn't even make that flavor anymore. Not to mention he was pretty sure that the chances of it ever having been made on Gunsmoke were about equal to the chances of Gil appearing in his rucksack courtesy of a magical fairy.

_But this was nothing like those cherished visions. For starters, Vash wasn't drunk. Wolfwood hadn't had to trick him or tempt him or lie to him at all. In fact, the only thing he had done was lay on the charm a bit too thick, then head upstairs and not question Vash when he followed him. He hadn't thought about it, really. His second big mistake, right behind flirting in the first place. Some childish, nervous part of his brain had whispered that maybe, just maybe, Vash was following him to his room because he wanted to do the nasty, too. But the angry, gun-toting, cynical part of his mind that ran the roost all the rest of the time had threatened that tiny voice with a grenade and it had quieted down with admirable speed. _

_He had unlocked the door, opened it, tossed a "G'night" over his shoulder, closed the door behind him, dropped his jacket on the chair, fumbled with his shirt buttons and then thanked the second set of hands that helpfully assisted with the unbuttoning. His shirt was a puddle of cloth on the floor and then those hands were helping him with his pants, too. The hands were so efficient that he didn't think it strange for a total of twenty heartbeats. Then Wolfwood had frozen suddenly. He didn't need to look up. Who else wore excessively complex leather gloves like that? Hell, who else wore that much red? Unbelievably, he asked the first stupid question that popped into his head: "Vash, what are you doing?" _

Laguna was cringing inside and out. Things like this didn't happen in real life. If someone started helping you undress, you noticed. Wolfwood wasn't an idiot, after all. Laguna rubbed his chin. Wolfwood's slow reaction time _could_ be blamed on alcohol, he guessed, but he hadn't said that Wolfwood was drunk. Hadn't said he'd been drinking anything at all, actually. Damn. Laguna elected to slide a sentence or two in at the beginning about the dangers of drinking and flirting and cover his ass that way. Damn story continuity. Damn accurate characterization, too. Maybe the readers of _Stud_ wouldn't notice how unusual it was for Wolfwood to act like an imbecile and for Vash to moonlight as a sex kitten.

_ Vash's voice was husky…_

Laguna scratched "husky" off his "must use" word list and stared at the next one down, "lust," wondering how he'd manage to fit it in without it sounding forced and contrived.

_…when he answered, "Finishing what you started downstairs." Wolfwood's pants dropped to the floor, joining the discarded shirt and leaving him…_

His fingers stopped moving and he thought. Ahhh…the fundamental question: boxers, briefs, or commando? Laguna's empty belly answered for him. Sooner sans clothing, sooner debauched.

_… naked and exposed, the proof of his lust jutting up proudly at the juncture of his thighs. _

Laguna raised a triumphant fist into the air. Mission to use "lust": completed. Next on the list: throb. That should be easy considering Wolfwood's current state of undress.

_Vash stared at him, his eyes lit with appraisal and appreciation. Wolfwood was…_

Hmm…how to describe Wolfwood, make him sound physically attractive and desirable, yet still manly?

_…a pleasure to look at with his manly, muscled chest, sculpted abs and lean, hardened, powerful-looking legs. Not at all soft, but still beautiful. Yet undeniably masculine. Yes, all man, Wolfwood. The poster child for testosterone._

Laguna burst into hysterical laughter that turned into weak coughs. Those had to be, without a doubt, the five worst sentences he had ever written. That line about raisins was Shakespeare in comparison. He closed his eyes and realized that he was slightly dizzy, swaying a bit in his chair. At least he had something to blame for the crappy writing. He could all but hear himself begging his editor to understand that malnutrition and delusions were responsible for every wretched sentence. Would she believe him? In his rucksack were three certificates for outstanding literary achievement. He wondered how they tasted and if the hotel would give him some salt to help them go down easier.

He skimmed the entire story for a minute and then realized he had a slight problem: Wolfwood had a cigarette at the beginning of the flashback. It had seemed like the right thing to do at the time. Very in-character for Wolfwood to have a cigarette, after all. The only thing is that, he would have had to keep it between his lips during the entire time Vash was undressing him. Was he coordinated enough to pull that off without burning both he and Vash? Laguna shrugged realizing that nobody gave a damn about the cigarette. There were other long, cylindrical objects that the readers wanted placed between Wolfwood's lips and it was his job, by Hyne, to make sure that it "came" to be. Yes, lots of "coming." Next on the list, right after "throb."

_No sooner had Vash stripped Wolfwood, that he immediately turned to his own clothing. Despite the fact that he wore a complicated assortment of straps fastened with arbitrary buckles, Vash's clothing came off without a hitch. And, as per the beginning of the story, he removed them with deliberate, teasing slowness because things like that are sexy and, contrary to his behavior in the manga and anime, Vash the Stampede was actually a sex-fiend bent on seduction._

Laguna had a headache from banging his head against the desk. Well, at least they were both naked.

_Vash's body was as complicated as his clothing. A collection of painful-looking scars covered his skin, as did mysterious metal plates and bolts. Wolfwood wondered what they would feel like under his tongue. He didn't have to wait long to find out as Vash walked towards him with cat-like grace and then they were _touching_. His breath caught in his throat. Vash's hands were roaming all over his body, dipping past his bellybutton to grasp his throbbing…_

Uh-oh. The biggest dilemma so far. What, oh what, to call the damn thing? He consulted his list of dirty words. Penis? Too clinical. Erection had the same problem. Member? Er…member of _what_, exactly? Sex? As in: _His throbbing sex?_ It had potential, but he felt like using it was shamelessly trying to appease the squeamish or easily offended. Something like calling a clown a "Professional Children's Entertainer" or a lunch lady a "Provider of Nutritional Essentials." So what was left? What indeed. It was there, right in front of him, glaring up at him with effusive lewdness. The big standby, the old favorite. The mother of all dysphemisms. Cock. He said it out loud a few times, amazed that it only sounded more vulgar the more he said it. "Cock, cock, cock, cock," he chanted in a hunger-induced haze of oblivious cheerfulness. It was just raunchy. But it certainly drove the point home, to use a terribly accurate turn of phrase. Well, it was decided. Nothing to it but to write the word:

_…cock. Vash worked the solid weight in his hands and Wolfwood's body reacted instantly, driving into the tunnel formed by Vash's clever fingers._

Just how the hell could fingers be clever? Probably the same way cocks could throb.

_"Vash!" Wolfwood cried, relishing the feel of his cock sliding smoothly in and out thanks to sweat and pre-cum. _

Wait a minute. What was up with the spelling on that? _Pre-cum. _Was there some unspoken rule for porn writers that said you had to spell it c-u-m when the word "pre" was stuck in front of it? Would it mean less if spelled p-r-e-c-o-m-e? Ah, hell, forget it. He was pre-cumming all over the place. Wolfwood was the king of pre-cum so long as Laguna got a nice paycheck for it.

_It was too fast, too soon. He had to stop. "No, wait," he panted against Vash's neck. "Not like this. I want _more_." Vash trailed his hands up Wolfwood's chest, tweaking his hardened nipples and fully embracing his newfound role as scarlet woman. "You want more?" he asked, "Oh, I'll give you more."_

And that was minus another fifteen points for bad dialogue. He erased it and tried again.

_"You want more?" he asked and punctuated the sentence with a deep kiss._

As opposed to all those shallow kisses that keep running around. He realized that it was the part of the story set aside for the required description of how the kiss _tasted_. Laguna wracked his brain and had to admit that, unless food was involved, kisses were usually flavor-free. Ah, hell. What was a pleasant, erotic way to taste?

_Vash tasted like spaghetti._

Nope. His stomach seemed to be typing for him. Down boy. Think sex.

_Vash tasted like vanilla. Sweet and light and innocent, somehow contradicting the fact that he was pushing his tongue into Wolfwood's mouth in a rhythmic, suggestive, decidedly un-innocent manner, the motion hinting at all sorts of other, messier activities. _

_"Yes," Wolfwood gasped against Vash's mouth. "More!" He dropped to his knees, suddenly realizing that he wanted to taste Vash. All of him. His lips and tongue danged across the velvet skin and then he took it into his mouth, savoring the thickness against his tongue. Gone were his earlier worries and fears. Consequences? What consequences? All that mattered was that Vash push him down onto the bed and…_

In for a dime, in for a dollar…

_…fuck him. Fuck him hard and long and fast. He wanted to feel Vash inside him, wanted to come screaming his name._

He paused and considered the implications of having Wolfwood proclaim, via suspiciously out-of-character internal monologue, that he wanted Vash to fuck him. Somewhere, somebody would protest the odd placement of Vash, literally, on top of Wolfwood. However, if he tried to please them by making Vash the bottom, somewhere, someone else would accuse him of thinking inside the porn box instead of broadening his pornish horizons. Well, since Wolfood had already thought the thought, there was nothing to it but to have Vash give it to him "hard and long and fast" and wrapped up pretty-like with a slashy bow.

_Vash, apparently had similar ideas. Wolfwood wasn't entirely aware of Vash pulling him back to his feet and moving towards the bed, but he soon found himself laying next to Vash, his hands moving over the imperfect body, chased by his lips. He found that the metal was warm against his tongue and that the sharp_…er…_metallic taste lingered._

Brilliant. Pure genius. The metallic taste of metal? The bloody Pulitzer was his.

_Soon Vash was pressing him down onto his back and straddling his thighs. Their…_

Damn, he thought, I've used "cock" too much. I need a synonym. Eenie, meenie…

_…arousals met and both men moaned at the contact, Wolfwood closer to the edge than he wanted to be, his hips moving of their own accord. He needed this to last. He'd waited so long._

_Vash reacted by digging his fingers into Wolfwood's hips to hold him still. He shifted until he was crouching between Wolwood's legs…_

Crouching Gunman, Hidden Boner…

_…coaxing him to spread them wider to accommodate him. Wolfwood closed his eyes tightly, blocking out the entirely too-arousing image of Vash between his leggs._

Damn, he thought, I used "arousing" mere sentences after using "arousals." And was that a typo? What the hell were "leggs"? Dammit, he'd fix it later.

_There was a sound of a drawer opening and a snap as a cap was flipped open. Remarkably, this time around, there _was_ a bedside stand with lubrication in the top drawer. The flavor? Suck me Sherbert. Wolfwood, however, was too far-gone to wonder at the convenient lotion, though later he would appreciative it more fully. There was a delay, a torturous, uncertain moment. Then a slick finger was pressing into his…_

Orifice of Orgasmic Delight? Tight Chunnel of Love? Passageway of Male Desire?

_…opening. The finger was strange at first, but he gradually got accustomed to it, even wanted it to go deeper. To thicken…_

_Almost as if reading his thoughts, Vash added an extra finger._

There were rules about this, too, weren't there? He was sure there was a three-finger limit. Three would be the number of the fingers and the number of the fingers would be three. No more, no less. And you have to use words like "scissoring" and "stretching" and "preparing" or it just wasn't right. He nodded. He could do this.

_Vash worked the two fingers inside Wolfwood, twisting them and scissoring them with careful, practiced motions that he learned in his training to become a part-time Love Master in addition to Gunman and Outlaw. Adding a third finger, he stretched the opening to prepare Wolfwood for…_

The upcoming, potentially painful introduction of something much larger and longer than fingers? Laguna racked his brain and realized there was no good way to say that. He'd have to let it sit for a while and come back to it later.

_Wolfwood was moving his hips again, rutting against the fingers…_

Rutting…What the _hell_ was rutting? Sounded a bit like "cutting." Like cutting turkey and ham. Ham…Mmm….food…Oh, wait. Back to the sex.

_He couldn't keep himself from crying out, "More!" and letting a disappointed noise escape his lips as the fingers slid from his body. Vash held his hips fast and ordered him to open his legs wider. Wolfwood complied, aware of the tickling feeling of lubrication dripping down his thighs. He held his breath as he felt something more substantial than fingers rest against him. Vash whispered, "Relax," and stroked a hand down Wolfwood's chest. Wolfwood nodded and tried to force his muscles to loosen. Then he was being split open as Vash entered him, inch by excruciating inch. Wolfwood hissed, his breaths small spasms as he was filled._

_Above him, Vash was sweating, trying to fight the urge to simply plunge directly in. _

He read the paragraph again and decided that it could be much, much worse. After all, things could _always_ be worse. Now, what else was required in situations like this? Ah ha! He had almost forgotten: the obligatory peek into the top's psyche. As per porn rules, he had to describe how good it felt for Vash too, didn't he?

_Vash bit back a gasp. It was unbelievably tight and warm, a delicious pressure against his cock. It was all he could do to keep from coming right then. But he wanted it to last, wanted to make it good for Wolfwood._

That should do. Tight, warm, and delicious always worked. He toyed with the idea of throwing in "it felt like he was being swallowed" but some part of his remaining self respect stayed his hand.

_After a moment, he found himself surrounded entirely by the slicked passage. He held himself still, then pulled out slowly only to slide back in with equal restraint, angling his thrust to hit just the right spot. Wolfwood bit his lip and raised his hips high off the damp sheets. "Ugn…Vash…harder," he whimpered. _

_The second thrust was only just slightly harder, the speed still torturously slow. Wolfwood's hips writhed. "Vash!" he cried out. "Harder!"_

_It was all Vash needed to hear. The third thrust rocked through Wolfwood like an earthquake. He arched off the bed and screamed, his voice a carnal mix of pleasure and pain. No sooner had the waves from the first thrust ended that the sensations of the fourth thrust were echoing through his body. _

"One, two, three, four." He had just used "thrust" four times in a row and he was mildly impressed with himself.

_They piled atop of one another, waves of bliss and ecstasy, the feeling of being owned and used. It was wrong, it was cheap and dirty. _

_It was damn good._

_The cock still hard and moving inside him, Wolfwood reached down to stroke himself, timing the motions with the rhythms of Vash's penetrations. It only took a moment and he was coming explosively, jets of seed spilling over his hand and splashing onto his stomach._

Laguna cringed. "Ewww…." He'd have to go back and write in a towel somewhere along the line.

_Wolfwood spent beneath him, Vash halted and adjusted, lifting Wolfwood's legs over his own shoulders and changing the angle. Their eyes met and, though no words were spoken, so much passed between them in that instant. Wolfwood's eyes still on him, Vash thrust, pouring all of his energy into the motion and smiling when a cry was torn from Wolfwood's raw throat. Again and Wolfwood called his name. Again and tears poured down his face. Again, again, again._

Laguna shifted in his seat. Okay, that was actually kinda hot. The writing was still abysmal, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't a little turned on. He crossed his legs. At least he had something else to worry about besides his empty, black hole of a stomach.

_Wolfwood's cock was swelling again as Vash's pace increased. Vash leaned down low over him and their lips met in a bittersweet kiss tinged with sweat and come. Mouth open and his own voice a constant moan, Wolfwood rocked into the thrusts, feeling too much but wanting more of it. Vash's breathing was short and harsh, so overcome that his pace faltered, the perfect rhythm ended by his own orgasm. And when he came, he bit into Wolfwood's shoulder with enough force to break the skin. As rivers of his come poured into Wolfwood, his hips kept rocking, riding the waves of passion until he threw his head back on a cry and then flopped forward as if boneless. _

_Wolfwood's legs slipped from his shoulders and Vash could only gasp for breath, his mind and body slowly descending from the cosmic heights. Still conscious and functioning, Vash became aware of the hardness pressing into his stomach. He wrapped his long fingers around Wolfwood and worked him until he came for the second time, still harboring Vash's softened cock inside of him. Vash felt the muscles spasm around him and the stirrings of desire renewed in earnest. He knew that, were he not so exhausted from their first, lively joining, that he'd do it again in a heartbeat. For all that he had had him, Vash was not sated. He knew that he'd want Wolfwood again. Tomorrow and the next day. Forever._

Laguna made gagging noises. Sap, too? Would the hideousness that was this story never come to an end?

_Vash finally shifted his weight until they were laying side-by-side, fingers drifting lazily over damp, heated skin. _

_The room had darkened during their lovemaking… _

Lovemaking? Sounded an awful lot like fucking to Laguna…

_…and the shadows stretched across the floor. Their breathing calmed and in the silence, Wolfwood mused about the sequence of events that had led them to, what now seemed like, this unavoidable conclusion. He had an armful of Vash, a sticky mess on his stomach and the slippery feeling of lubrication and come leaking from his body. He was tired; his legs felt like they might after a race, and his shoulder was aching. He felt better than he had in a long, long time. Certainly closer to good than he had been his whole life. _

Pouring it on thick, wasn't he? If he added any more sentimental drivel it would be a greeting card. Albeit, a greeting card with multiple orgasms, but a greeting card nonetheless. Laguna stared at the cursor, wondering how to wrap this up nice and neat.

_"Vash?" he asked and was rewarded with the sound of gentle breathing. Asleep. Like nothing in the world was wrong. Like Wolfwood hadn't made the most enjoyable, stupid mistake of his life. He pulled Vash closer and snuggled down into the mattress. There was time to worry about the consequences tomorrow, for there would surely be consequences. He'd never had a good intention that didn't lead to them, after all._

Laguna checked the first line of the story and realized that he had brought it full circle. He smiled. It was awful. It had no plot. The characterizations were the exact opposite of accurate and some 180 degrees south of believable. But it was a meal. Or two. Hell, if he was careful, he could stretch it for two weeks. He saved the file and then stood. He'd edit it later on, print it, and have it sent by tomorrow morning. Not bad for a day's work. In fact, he deserved a treat. Maybe food if he could beg some off the hotel manager who had seen his movies and liked them. Yes, food.

But first…

He looked down.

Food could wait.

Heading for the shower and hoping his wrist wasn't too tired from typing, he smiled, glad he had his priorities straight.

Owari

Unfortunately, there are bits here that are simply NOT my material. "Crouching Gunman, Hidden Boner" is derived from a quote from "Sex in the City" and "The number of the counting…" is a Python's reference. Not only do I have writer's block, but I don't have an original idea in my head. Sigh.


End file.
